


Fighting Man

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [39]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Gender Roles, Genderplay, Jock Straps, M/M, Voyeurism, Weight Lifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint goes undercover at a Mixed Martial Arts gym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Man

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Genderplay

Sitting in the surveillance van two blocks away, Phil felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. 

'Just an op like any other. You've done this a hundred times. You hand-picked the team. They're the best. Nothing's going to go wrong.'

Phil watched Clint walk up to the door of the mixed martial arts gym, wearing faded jeans and an old grey hoodie with the hood up, a gym bag over his shoulder. Phil reached out and punched a button as Clint went through the door and the view changed, now Phil could see his face. His eyes were hooded and his mouth was set in a sour line. As he walked through the gym towards the locker rooms, his hand went up to sweep the hood off his head, revealing a very short buzz-cut. It had been three days, but Phil hadn't gotten entirely used to that yet. He was, however, looking forward to running his hands over it, when the op was over and Clint came home... whenever that might be.

Phil sighed and punched another button as Clint went into the locker rooms. The techs who had installed the surveillance had done an excellent job. They had 92% coverage of the entire building, and Clint knew to stay out of the very few blind spots. So Phil had a clear view as Clint took off his boots and then stripped off his hoodie, shirt, and jeans and hung them in his locker. 

Phil straightened in his seat and, feeling stupidly self-conscious, glanced around the empty van. He hadn't really gotten used to this part yet, either. Seeing one's colleagues in various states of undress was par for the course at SHIELD, just like it had been in the army. The job needed to get done, and it got done, modesty be damned. Phil knew that Clint didn't mind who saw him naked - he'd grown up in an environment where everyone changed clothes together behind a curtain between acts, and bodies were just bodies. Phil, after years in the army, wasn't particularly shy either, and Clint and Phil had seen each other naked (or nearly naked) more than once before they ever started dating.

This was different. It wasn't the voyeurism aspect that was making Phil uncomfortable, it was... and he'd laid in bed the night before last thinking about it... it was the fact that Clint was undercover, and very, very good at it. So good at it, that not only were his clothes and hair different, his body language was different. Watching Clint get naked in the gym locker room was almost (but not quite) like watching a very attractive stranger get naked. And it was almost (but not quite) like watching his boyfriend get naked. It was... disconcerting, to say the least.

However, the 'watching Clint getting naked' part wasn't actually what made Phil... uncomfortable. That was when Clint started to get dressed for the day's training session.

First, there was the jockstrap. Now, Phil had never had any kind of a jockstrap kink, but that was before he'd seen Clint in one. And it wasn't just seeing him in it, no, it was watching him put it on, and then... adjust it. Clint would stand and stretch, hike up one knee then the other, sometimes even do a couple of lunges, making sure everything was seated comfortably. Watching Clint's tight thigh muscles and glutes ripple around the elastic straps of the jock... It made Phil's mouth go dry. 

Then Clint would pull on his shorts, and sit down on the bench to tape his hands. Phil was used to watching Clint get ready for an op. Phil had stood or sat next to him a hundred times while he got dressed in his tac suit, checked his gear, prepared to go into a combat situation. Watching Clint tape his knuckles should have looked, felt the same to Phil, but it didn't, because it wasn't the same Clint. The man sitting on a bench in that locker room wasn't quite as meticulous. Moved with less smoothness and grace. Treated his gear with less respect. Treated himself with less respect... Phil got the very uneasy feeling that this was the man Clint would have become if he hadn't joined SHIELD five years ago.

The hands that he was taping, the long, strong fingers that Phil loved to feel roaming over his body were nicked and bruised and abraded. They were rougher, harder hands than the ones that stroked his skin at night and handed Phil his coffee in the morning. 

Clint didn't bother to put on a shirt. He laced his shoes, grabbed a towel, and headed out of the locker room into the gym. For the next few minutes, Phil was 100% back in operational headspace, scanning the room, determining who was there, who they had already identified, who was worth investigating further, following, possibly leaning on if the op went in that direction. Phil noted the owner of the gym and two trainers, one of whom was probably going to turn out to be their mark. Satisfied that nothing else of operational importance was happening, Phil went back to watching Clint.

He was sitting backwards on a lat pull-down machine, hands gripping the bar wide, biceps bulging as he brought it down behind his neck. Phil had watched Clint work out more times than he could remember. Back when they were just starting to notice each other, Phil would find excuses to be in the SHIELD gym when Clint was there so that he could covertly watch. But again, this wasn't the same Clint. Instead of the calm look of careful concentration that Clint usually wore when lifting weights, this Clint was scowling. Looking fierce and almost aggressive. Phil watched the sweat bead on his skin and the muscles ripple in his arms. Sitting in the van, Phil shook his head slightly. It wasn't as good as watching him shoot, but...

Phil had always been attracted to masculine men. He had taken enough psych classes to know what it meant that his boyhood hero was Captain America, that he played wide-receiver on his high school football team (he was small, but quick), that he joined the ROTC, and then the Army. He and his psyche were at peace with the fact that effeminate men who lisped and minced left him cold. That he was attracted to broad chests and muscular arms and deep voices...

Phil watched Clint spar. Watched the cold, hooded eyes that said to his opponent, 'You wanna fuck with me? Come get some!' He watched Clint - or rather, the man Clint was playing - enjoy the fight. Not in the relaxed, easy way he did when he was sparring in the SHIELD gym, but in a menacing, almost frighteningly vicious way. Clint was careful to win, but not too easily. His opponent got a couple of good shots in, but after five minutes of making it look good, Clint flattened the man with a feint to the left and then a lightning fast combination. 

He watched Clint climb out of the ring, run the towel over his head and leave it around his shoulders. Watched him slump into a chair, legs splayed wide, bottle of water dangling from one hand, scratching his balls with the other. Radiating so much attitude that Phil could practically smell the testosterone from two blocks away. 

It was hot as hell, and Phil couldn't wait for the mission to be over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
